


object permanence

by lyricalprose (fairylights)



Series: 2013 Fic Advent Calendar [14]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 2013 Fic Advent Calendar, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:19:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairylights/pseuds/lyricalprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor’s face is carefully neutral. “Rose, you have to understand–”</p><p>“You’re right,” she snaps, interrupting. “I <i>do</i> have to understand, because right now <i>I don’t.</i>” The sharp words feel <i>good,</i> solid and satisfying, in the same way a well-placed left hook or a solid, cracking slap might be. “So why don’t you explain it to me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	object permanence

**Author's Note:**

> [crazyandsexy](http://crazyandsexy.tumblr.com) asked “tentoo/rose a very angsty row but with happy end.”
> 
> Fill #14 for my [2013 fic advent calendar](http://lyricalprose.tumblr.com/tagged/2013-fic-advent-calendar).

It’s dark by the time they make it to Bergen from the beach.  
  
When they arrive, Jackie goes to check them into the hotel while Rose pays the cab driver. The Doctor hovers behind her as she counts out the unfamiliar currency, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. His eyes, though ostensibly occupied with taking in the sights and sounds of the city at night, stray back to Rose every few seconds, as though he’s certain that she’ll disappear if he stops looking at her for too long.  
  
When they meet Jackie in the lobby, her mum presents Rose with a single room key and casts a concerned and significant look between her and the Doctor. She then promptly announces, loud enough for the entire lobby to hear, that she’s knackered and is going to bed.  
  
“You tired?” Rose asks the Doctor, after her mum’s gone, and he pauses for a moment before responding – tilting his head to one side and squinting, as if he has to think very deliberately about his answer.  
  
“Yeah,” is the halfhearted answer he settles on, after a few seconds. “Guess I am.”

—  
  
Later on, she can’t even remember what it was that set it off.  
  
They walk around the hotel room on eggshells, maintaining just enough distance to be able to keep each other in view, but never closing the gap. Rose washes her face and the Doctor stands listlessly in the doorway; he settles himself on the bed and she hovers at the little table near the door, pretending to look through room service menus.  
  
She comments on something he does – some idiom he uses, or some habit she remembers – and notes that it hasn’t changed. What it was, she can’t recall, but she remembers what comes next.  
  
“Same man,” he says quietly, and it almost sounds like an apology.  
  
“You’re _not_ the same, though,” Rose says, after a beat, and she can’t quite keep the acid out of her voice, the bitterness that’s been welling up and eating away at her since she heard the sound of the TARDIS fading away. Ever since he left, without even saying goodbye. “He wouldn’t say it, and you did. Pretty big difference, I think.”  
  
 _He left, and you stayed_ , she doesn’t say out loud.  
  
The Doctor’s face is carefully neutral. “Rose, you have to understand–”  
  
“You’re right,” she snaps, interrupting. “I _do_ have to understand, because right now I _don’t._ ” The sharp words feel _good,_ solid and satisfying, in the same way a well-placed left hook or a solid, cracking slap might be. “So why don’t you explain it to me?”  
  
His expression shifts from calm and composed to hard and dark in a split second. “What do you want me to explain, exactly?” He asks the question through gritted teeth, with his eyebrows drawn down and together, balanced on the razor’s edge of anger.  
  
“Same man, hm?” Rose knows she’s getting louder with every word, but she’s so far down the road towards anger that she can’t stop, even if she wanted to. “So you would’ve just up an’ left, too, if the shoe was on the other foot? No goodbye, just swannin’ off and sendin’ me away again? Sendin’ us _both_ away?”  
  
The Doctor visibly flinches, and Rose knows she’s hit a nerve. “You _would_ have, wouldn’t you?”  
  
If it’s possible, his face becomes even harder, his expression like stone for all that it tells her what he’s actually thinking. “Yes,” he says coldly, without hesitation.  
  
“ _Why?_ ” She’s properly shouting now, probably loud enough to wake anyone trying to sleep in the neighboring rooms, but she can’t bring herself to care. The volume is cathartic, invigorating, makes her feel more alive than she’s felt in years.  
  
“Because I’m _selfish!_ ” he snaps. “Because I’m a _coward._ ” He’s pacing, now, running his hands through his hair as his own voice picks up in volume – no longer the even, ice-cold tones of the Oncoming Storm, but something more raw, edged with anger and panic. “Because I’ve never been able to look you in the eye when I sent you away.”  
  
“Because I love you,” he grates out, and his voice is wrecked, half-anguished and half-angry, the harsh tone all wrong for the words. “I love you. I _love_ you, so, _so_ much more than I should, and far, far less than you deserve.”  
  
The Doctor stares at her for a few long, silent moments. He’s waiting for a response, with his chest heaving and his hair a riotous mess, and the words he’s just spoken – new words, words that apparently still have the power to knock the breath from Rose’s lungs – hang heavy in the air between them.  
  
When a few more seconds pass and Rose still can’t seem to string two words together, the Doctor slumps, defeated, and promptly bolts from the room.  
  
—-  
  
She finds him out on the street, sitting on a bench just outside the hotel.  
  
It smells of rain and cigarettes, out here in the world; the air is damp, with just the barest hint of ash threaded through it. The Doctor is hunched over, elbows on his knees and chin in one hand, staring blankly into a brightly lit shop window on the other side of the street.  
  
Rose settles down next to him on the bench, but doesn’t say anything. She just sits, patiently, and waits for him to speak.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he finally offers, quietly. “I’m sorry that he left. I’m sorry that I would have, too. I’m sorry that he didn’t ask, and that he didn’t say goodbye, and that I’m a prat.” Rose can’t help but smile at the last, even though it’s a bit too true to really be funny.  
  
“But I’m _not_ sorry that I’m here,” he finishes, with just a bit of a waver in his voice. “And I hope you’re not either.”  
  
Rose brings a hand up to turn his face towards hers. His cheek is stubbly and warm under her hand, and she scrapes her thumb across the roughness of it, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation. “I’m not sorry,” she says, and then she kisses him.  
  
It’s not the wind-swept, desperate kiss from earlier that day, and there’s no anger or heat in it, not really. It’s assurance, comfort, a promise made with lips and teeth and tongues, and the Doctor falls into it gratefully – threading a hand through her hair, gently slanting his mouth against hers, trying to see if he can work _I’m sorry_ into this, as well.  
  
“I love you, too,” she says, once they’ve pulled apart. “Don’t think I’d reminded you of that just yet.”  
  
The Doctor’s answering smile is dazzling, but it fades fairly quickly. “You know I’m not leaving, right? Never. ” His face is serious, and so is his tone. “You’re properly stuck with me now, Rose Tyler.”  
  
As soon as the words leave his mouth he shies back, a little, as if he’s afraid they’re the wrong words – that they’re too heavy, or maybe not heavy enough.  
  
She’s still a little angry. There’s still things they need to say.  
  
But they’ve got time.  
  
So Rose squeezes the Doctor’s hand and quips, “Stuck with you? That’s not so bad,” and she means every word.


End file.
